How to Admit to Sherlock
by thefaultoflegend
Summary: Sequel to How to Apologize to Molly. Just when Sherlock thinks that James Moriarty is out of his hair, a virus is discovered on the consulting detective's laptop that might lead him to some extra pieces of Moriarty's web. With the help of Molly and his other friends, Sherlock works to defeat the web once and for all, but will he lose the people closest to him in the process?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: It's sequel time! So if you haven't already, you should check out my fic How to Apologize to Molly which is the first story to this series. I'm really excited about this sequel and I hope you guys like it. This first chapter is all introductory information and we will reunite with our beloved characters in chapter two. Also if there is anything you guys would like to see in this story, let me know in reviews. I have everything laid out but I'm open for little suggestions (more Sherlolly, Sherlock and baby Ava scenes, etc.) I am also taking prompts for one-shots over on Tumblr (same username as on here). Thanks for reading and if you like it leave a review!-thefaultoflegend **

It was all so normal. That was this first thing that Chris Palmer noticed as he sat in the lobby of a prestigious law firm, clutching a briefcase and adjusting his suit while he waited for the secretary to call him in. The man behind the large oak doors who he was about to see was someone whom he had spoken to before, many times in fact. They had conversed about various things over the years, but Chris wouldn't really call that a friendship. Their conversations consisted mostly of body counts, locations of criminals, devious plans to be put into place, the average dealings of a criminal mastermind. They were far from that, of course. They weren't masterminds. They were more like the minions, the monkeys, troops, awaiting orders from their master, whoever or wherever he may be. They never saw a face, only heard a voice, as was the case with much of their relationships with the web with which they were entangled. Phantom voices, coming from nowhere it seemed.

Chris often questioned whether or not it was real, if he was indeed part of such a vast criminal network, a network so complex and secretive that a man who spent two years trying to take it down couldn't even complete the task. The consulting detective whom the web feared was clever, but not clever enough.

Word travelled fast and when it was announced that Sherlock Holmes was after them, the minions went back to their hiding places, scurrying into the dark corners of the world, blending in, staying hidden. It wasn't hard for some of them, the ones who didn't choose to be in this position in the first place. Of course, joining the ranks of James Moriarty was never really a choice. It was usually done by force, through information. Oh, he knows that you killed a man and you're wanted by the country? He'll keep you protected as long as you work for him. Have a little run in with some drugs? James will help you, but then hold it over your head for as long as you live. But the lifestyle that they were presented with was addicting. Who could resist tracking down people who deserved revenge? How could one stop the killing and the destruction once it all started? Having power. That's what Moriarty's web was all about. And power was addicting. Power could make a father with three kids and beautiful wife turn into a trained marksmen, able to hit a target from yards away without so much as double checking. Power could make the weak strong, make others cower in fear. And it was intoxicating, that feeling. That's how it was with Chris and the man whom he was about to meet with. All he had was a name and a voice. Paul Wise. His voice was low and gruff, his words over enunciated. An English accent. Chris had never seen Paul despite their numerous conversations. This would be the first, the first necessary meeting. Because something happened that would change everything.

Their master was in jail. James Moriarty had a life-sentence in a high security prison, guarded and protected and never able to get out. At least that's what Mycroft Holmes thought. But the web? They laughed in the face of Mycroft Holmes. Now there was a man who was addicted to power. He could have anything done with just the click of his fingers and he loved that. They could all tell from that smug grin, the nose pointed in the air, him thinking that he was so much better than everybody else. Mycroft Holmes was scum. His power meant nothing to the web. His declarations were hollow. Because here was the thing; the web was going to get James Moriarty out. Nothing, not gurads, not guns, not chains, not fences, not anything had stopped them before and something as simple as a prison wasn't going to stop them now.

Sherlock Holmes thought he had got them all, thought he had picked off every last one of the little spiders. He was so wrong. He made such a big mistake. Because he missed the most important pieces. He missed the higher-ups, the ones calling the shots. The web was like a corporation, a hierarchy system. With the most important people being the most well protected, the best hidden. And now here they were, plotting and planning and recruiting and making their way back into to the real world of crime, of killing and stealing and undoing entire government systems, sometimes just as a way to spend an afternoon. It was all a game and it was fun for them, just as solving crimes was fun for Sherlock Holmes.

The secretary had finally spoken up, her dark eyes piercing through Chris from above her wide-framed glasses. He wondered briefly if she was a part of the web. He doubted it. James rarely took women unless it was absolutely necessary. And he had good reason. "Mr. Wise will see you now," said the woman in a nasally and bored tone as she motioned toward the large doors. Chris didn't even thank her, instead stood up, smoothed down his suit jacket, and walked purposefully toward the door. He pushed one open with one hand and was greeted by a large room with a spectacular view of the city. The floor they were on was high up on the building, the kind of high up that held secrets and conspiracies. In front of the windows sat on old wooden desk with delicate carvings on the outer sides and matching chairs sitting in front of it. It fit the look of the room nicely as everything felt quite ancient, but royal all at the same time.

The man who was sitting behind the desk looked up. He was in his early 40s, his jet black hair jelled back and his black glasses pushed up against his face. His build was large and he was tall, even sitting down. He was intimidating, even to Chris who dealed with criminals on a daily basis. The man stood as Chris walked over and held out his hand. The two men shook once, their hands gripping the others fiercely and their eyes assessing the other one, secrets being passed between two practical strangers.

The two men sat down on opposite sides of the desk, still staring at each other for several seconds. The tension in the air was thick, as was the occasion for meeting and each man could feel it with every breath they took, the air heavy and weighing down on top of them, bringing their worlds down.

"I'm sure you know why I called you here," said Paul with a curt nod, never breaking eye contact.

"Yes. He is gone, as good as dead," replied Chris.

"No. He is currently detained. That is different. Dead, we can't fix. Detained, however, that's easy. It should be no problem at all."

"But what about those idiots Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes? You know they are heavily involved with James' incarceration. They'll be patrolling that place like hounds, watching his every move." Paul thought for a few seconds, rubbing the scruff on his neck before continuing.

"Sherlock Holmes thinks that this network is defeated; I highly doubt he'll be that much concerned. Especially with his current life circumstances."

"Ahh…yes. The girlfriend? Who would have seen that coming? I suppose we'll have to come up with a new nickname," chuckled Chris.

"Even with the girlfriend, I think the nickname still fits. The Virgin. I'm glad he's out of our hair," said Paul and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, but what about the other woman? The one we are not to speak of. Do you think she'll involve herself?"

"She hardly deals with these matters anymore. She is not of our concern. As I see, she has moved on."

"But she was one of us once. You know that once this lifestyle starts it's hard to quit." Chris raised an eyebrow and Paul and a wordless exchange passed between them.

"Well if she decides to join our ranks then we'll gladly take her. But for now, recruitment. We need numbers and we need them fast."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks everyone for following this story so far! This chapter is a bit long and quite a bit fluffy so I apologize in advance. But it's important, I promise. Thanks for reading!-thefaultoflegend **

"Molly! Have you seen my phone?" Sherlock Holmes was quite literally tearing his bedroom apart while searching for his mobile. He had misplaced it somewhere between that morning and that evening. He had spent the day with Molly, relaxing at the flat, and only noticed its lack of presence now that he was getting bored. Molly was currently in the kitchen, talking with Mary and John while she cooked a meal for the four of them.

"It's in the first drawer in your side table!" she called back. She heard a faint ah-ha as she imagined her boyfriend finding the lost object.

"What about my…"

"Watch? On your dresser, love."

"My gun?"

"Ha! Nice try!" she called back to him and John and Mary smirked from where they sat at the kitchen table. Molly caught him shooting the walls just the week before and had found the perfect hiding place for the gun. A place that Sherlock wasn't even able to track down. Yet.

"Sorry," started John. "Did you two move into together?"

"No."

"Yes." Sherlock emerged in the kitchen now, buttoning his sleeves on his dress shirt. He smirked at Molly when she said no.

"Sherlock," she said with an accusing tone.

"Molly," Sherlock said back in the same way.

"We're not living together," she told John and Mary who were completely enjoying the exchange in front of them. Their little girl, Ava, cooed from where she laid in Mary's arms.

"Please," scoffed Sherlock. "Out of the last thirty days you have spent twenty-one at 221B Baker Street. You have also referred to this place as your home no less than twelve times in the past week. Also Toby has taken residence here. He's been here for at least six days now. We're living together." He gave Molly an amused smile and watched as she blushed crimson and realization dawned on her.

"And when exactly were you going to point out that I had moved in with you?" she asked while averting her gaze from everybody in the room.

"I thought you would figure it out eventually," he remarked.

"And that's okay with you? Me being here?" she asked skeptically. They had been dating for four months, and had gotten even closer during that time, but even Molly knew that living together would be a big step for the consulting detective. But apparently they had been doing just fine over the past month.

"Please me reasonable, Molly. I haven't kicked you out yet have I?" he asked a bit harshly but then playfully bumped his shoulder into hers. She simply rolled her eyes. "Of course it's okay with me," he relented and carefully placed a kiss on the top of her head, just along the part. Mary and John smiled at each other widely. Watching Molly and Sherlock's relationship grow as well as watching the growth of their baby girl brought such happiness to their lives. The relationship had changed both Sherlock and Molly for the better. Sherlock was much less irritable and Molly was coming even more out of her shell. And overall, they were both sickeningly happy.

Everyone was in fact. Things had improved so much around the group of friends. Mrs. Hudson loved that Molly was spending more time at the flat because that meant Mrs. Hudson could gossip and have "girl talk" with Molly. She became like a daughter to her and Molly didn't mind listening to the older lady one bit. In fact, she rather enjoyed her talks and Mrs. Hudson was more than grateful that she didn't have to clean Sherlock's flat as much now that Molly was there, although she still brought the pair tea in the morning.

Lestrade was also incredibly happy as of late. Sherlock at first thought it was because the detective inspector had been going through more cases than ever before, and some even without the help of Sherlock. But soon, the signs began to show. Wearing the same clothes as the day before, coming in looking like he hadn't slept at all but still with a wide smile on his face, another man's cologne always clinging to his clothes, his phone going off incessantly. Molly caught on, too. And she talked to Sherlock constantly about not saying anything to him, even though he desperately wanted to. Molly loved that Lestrade was happy with the new man in his life. And she didn't want to take away from that at all.

John and Mary were enjoying their lives with their new addition. Ava had brought them both so much joy and had healed any leftover wounds from the shooting incident. John still helped Sherlock out on cases when the safe life became too much for him, but he had cut back a little bit, much preferring to ensure his safety if only for the sake of his daughter. Sherlock understood, of course. He had become much more understanding of other people's needs. And besides that, he had Molly now.

Yes, Molly Hooper. His Molly Hooper. His pathologist. He had fallen into the boyfriend routine surprisingly easily, though it helped that he had Molly as a girlfriend, a term he no longer minded using as long as it meant that she was his. She was the only one who could put up with the experimenting and pouting and tantrums and mood swings, usually able to bring him out of whatever slump he was in. She even let him retreat into his mind palace whenever he needed to, which he greatly appreciated. His words still failed him at times, but he tried to show Molly that he truly did care about her in physical ways, with kisses on her head becoming a regular occurrence, as well as kisses anywhere else. He still struggled with public displays of affection but it had become easier when John and Mary were around.

So yes, the whole crew was happy. But they all also wondered when the penny would drop, when the next terrorist attack would hit, when another villain found their way into their lives. They were a tight group, protecting each other until the very end, but looming threats still kept them up at night. Nightmares from past experiences made them huddle close to each other, clinging to the things they held most dear. During the day, they did their best to hide it all and pretend like something bad wasn't going to come along again.

That's what the Watsons and Sherlock and Molly were doing today, just like every other day. Trying to forget. Which looked a lot like happiness. The happiness of Molly drinking wine and laughing with Mary while stirring a pot on the stove, both of their faces flushed and cheeks hurting from smiling. The happiness of Sherlock and John discussing their latest cases and searching for more interesting ones. The happiness of a warm kitchen with smells of good food and the company of even better friends. Trying to forget looked like normalcy. Well normal for this group of friends anyway. Normalcy was the ping of a recently found phone and an exclamation of joy coming from a consulting detective.

"Lestrade caught a lead on our case. It turns out our suspect's alibi didn't check out after all and they're going to track him down right now. Along with the girlfriend. I knew she had something to do with it. The game is on, John!" Sherlock quickly ran out to grab his coat and scarf, even though it was the middle of July. John ran after him, giving a quick kiss to Mary and the baby on the way out.

"We'll be back," he said. "Promise." They had been following this case for a week now and finally getting a break on it was like Christmas for the duo.

"Hey, what about dinner?" called Molly after the detective who was already half way out the door. He stopped on his heels, almost running into John. He was still getting used to answering to somebody else, at having to share his whereabouts with another person. He didn't mind sharing them with Molly, though. He walked into the kitchen with that devilish smile on his face and wrapped an arm around Molly's waist.

"Thirty minutes," he said with a twinkle in his eye and redness in cheeks. He would look like a five year old asking his mom to stay up later if it weren't for the hold he had on his girlfriend.

"Thirty minutes," agreed Molly and Sherlock quickly kissed her lips before darting away again. "Be careful, Sherlock!"

"Always, Molly Hooper!" he shouted back before the door slammed shut and Molly and Mary were left in the kitchen, erupting into giggles at the ludicrousness of their boys and knowing that they wouldn't be back for at least an hour and a half.

Thirty minutes later, Sherlock and John were chasing their suspect down a side street with smiles on both of their faces. It had been a while since they did any sort of chasing and they both missed it. They grinned at each other, their paces matching exactly, before taking off around another corner. Sherlock was mapping out the alleyways in his mind, picking out their route before the suspect even did. The case was a murder case where someone had killed their landlady because she threatened to evict them. It obviously hit home for both of the men, knowing full well how special their landlady was to them and how she had never threatened to evict them, despite holes in the walls and loud banging and burn marks on the wallpaper and daily explosions and occasional trained killers and the world's worst criminals showing up at the building. So, they took the case of the strangled landlady, dedicating themselves to finding their killer.

It was obviously someone who lived in the building but the original suspect had an alibi that proved to be false. So now here they were chasing him down, the man's girlfriend already in custody. Sherlock and John got closer to him and it didn't take long before they had him by the back of his shirt, John clipping the handcuffs around his wrists. Lestrade pulled the police car up to the street and pushed the man inside.

"That's fifteen solved cases in one week. We're on fire," Lestrade told the men standing before him.

"Yes and so are you and your new boyfriend judging by the state of your clothing," remarked the consulting detective.

"Sherlock," groaned John as he ran a hand over his face. Meanwhile, Lestrade turned beet red and started smoothing out his clothes. "Not good."

"One more deduction than I was expecting. My apologies. Please don't tell Molly I said anything," remarked Sherlock to which the other two men laughed. Molly did have a way of keeping him under control.

"It's okay," mumbled Lestrade and climbed back in the car, ready to take their criminal to the station.

"But I do know that cologne. Do I know this boyfriend?"

"Sherlock," John warned through gritted teeth.

"Nope. Gotta go. I'll text you with more cases," said Lestrade quickly before he was off again. Sherlock and John watched him drive down the street.

"He's hiding something," remarked Sherlock.

"Not really, Sherlock. Remember, you always miss something," replied John and smiled at the gaping consulting detective before walking off.

When they arrived back to 221B, they found a very tired looking Mary and Molly sitting on the couch with baby Ava asleep in her carrier. They made their apologies for being so late, and John quickly got his girls out of the flat and heading home. Sherlock sat down next to Molly and she nuzzled her head into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. She never got tired of being near Sherlock. She was always afraid she was being too clingy, but he never seemed to mind much, as long as they were by themselves.

"You and Mary were using my laptop to watch idiotic YouTube videos," he said as he stared at the coffee table where his computer sat.

"Not idiotic. Funny," she corrected and he nodded just his head instead of arguing back. They sat in the still of the flat for a few seconds before Molly broke the silence. "So… living together," she said with a shaky breath and looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

"Yes. Living together. Do you have a problem with that, Dr. Hooper?" he said as he turned his head to look at her.

"Let's see. Living with Sherlock Holmes. Well you are loud. Moody." She started ticking things off on her fingers and he nodded his head to each one. "You like to blow things up. You are incredibly messy. You mix food with body parts. Sometimes you can't sit still for days. Other times you won't get up for days." At this point he grabbed her and pinned her down on the couch under him as she let out a delighted squeal and laughed. "You haven't let me finish."

"Are there any good points to this little speech?"

"Of course. You make good conversation. You are incredibly brilliant. You amaze me every day. You're a great kisser. A decent cook. Never boring. Okay looking."

"Okay looking?" he protested and she giggled.

"Extremely handsome." She smiled up at him and he smirked down at her. "I suppose I could live with you."

"Molly Hooper, don't play games with me. You are the happiest you've ever been knowing that you're now living with me," he remarked between planting kisses all over her face.

"How do you know?" she asked defiantly.

"World's only consulting detective," he mumbled into her neck and she grinned as he kissed her. He was right, of course. Ever since she realized it in the kitchen that day she couldn't stop thinking about it. When he came to ask her to help him three years ago, she never in a million years thought it would lead to this. And now here she was, a faked death, a triumphant return, two engagements, one wedding, a broken engagement, a shooting, a killed criminal, a four minute exile, another return, an abduction, another killed criminal, and an imprisonment later, being kissed by Sherlock Holmes. And not even that, being kissed by Sherlock Holmes on a regular basis. A kiss to her lips brought her back to the present and she stared up at her blue-eyed detective, both of their pupils blown wide and hearts racing fast.

"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she whispered. "Deduce this." She took him by surprise and flipped them both off the couch and onto the floor before kissing him deeply as they both enjoyed their first official night of living together.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey, everyone. Sorry I got a little carried away length-wise. But here's chapter three. The action is going to pick up soon so just hang in there. Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!-thefaultoflegend**

"Molly, stop fidgeting." Sherlock reached over and stilled Molly Hooper's hands, which she was busy wringing together out of nervousness. She sighed and went to biting her lip instead, trying desperately to calm her nerves.

She always hated this part, meeting the parents. Every new boyfriend she had, she was always waiting for the inevitable, dreading it in fact. She was never good at impressing people; she was always too quiet and too shy and too awkward. She made morbid jokes and it was always like a bomb went off when she told the parent's about her profession. Working around dead people didn't impress anybody. If anything it repulsed them. And she could never give somebody grandchildren when she worked so much, and especially when that work was cutting up dead bodies and helping solve murders. She hoped, however, that meeting Sherlock's parents would be different.

They had been living together officially for a week before Sherlock decided it was time to pay his parent's a visit. Well more like his mother decided it was time to meet Sherlock's girlfriend, but Sherlock obliged.

The pair spent a lot of time together, more time than Molly thought Sherlock could spend with another person. And he never seemed to be bored or annoyed with her, so she supposed that was a success. They only argued a few times about body parts but that was normal, something they had plenty of experience working through.

Molly was happier than she had ever been because of him. And she liked to think she did the same to him. He was definitely less irritable. Even Greg and John told her that he was a lot calmer and kinder on cases, and even better when she was there with him. Because there was that, too. More going on cases with him. She loved every second of it, she had to admit. It gave her the chance to get out of the lab and out into the streets of London, running with her consulting detective as they tried to track down a killer.

He never took her on the more dangerous ones although she begged him to quite frequently. It was the one of the only things he never gave into. Getting him to eat? No problem. Letting her take over the telly and watch her ridiculous shows? She could even get him to sit with her. But she could never convince him when it came to the cases he took her on. They worked on low key ones. And when they finished a case he'd plant a kiss on her forehead when he thought no one was looking and even sometimes in front of Lestrade, as he started getting used to small public displays of affection. They would then go out for fish and chips. It was like a little tradition for the two of them and she looked forward to it.

"Molly?" Sherlock's voice cut through her thoughts and she looked over to see that her boyfriend was smiling down at her, a small forced smile, but he was still trying.

"Sherlock?" she asked timidly.

"Don't be nervous, Molly. I don't see why you're getting so worked up, anyway. I promise that your intellectual capabilities far surpass theirs. Well they surpass my father's at least. I suppose you and my mother are equals."

They were standing at his parent's door, waiting to be let in. Molly straightened the yellow dress she chose to wear for the occasion and took a deep breath. The day was gorgeous with the sun seeming to take up the entire sky and the scent from Mrs. Holmes' many flowers was wafting through the air. The smell calmed Molly and she smiled up at Sherlock.

"Intellectual capabilities won't help Sherlock. What if they don't like me?"

"They'll like you," he said impatiently. He knocked on the door again, wondering where his mother was.

"Sherlock…"

"Molly," he cut her off and looked at her, giving her a sincere smile this time and talking to her gently. "I like you. So I know for a fact that they will, too." He placed a hand on the small of her back and leaned in to kiss the top of her head. She would always relax when he did it and he ensured that he would perform the act when she was becoming too tense. It was one way he could think of to show her that he cared, and she seemed to appreciate it.

As for Sherlock, he was liking, no loving, every minute he had with Molly even he had a hard time admitting to others or even to himself. She was like a ray of sunshine cutting through everyone else.

When he was frustrated he sat in his flat and listened to her humming to herself as she read or cleaned. When he was bored she would grab his hand and drag him out of Baker Street and take him for a walk, talking to him about tests she was running and what was happening on the television shows she liked. He didn't even mind. He just liked to hear her voice, which was a first for him. He rarely liked talking about things that didn't hold any importance. But he did with Molly. They got into ridiculous conversations wherever they were, at the lab, in the morgue, on the case, sitting in one of their flats.

Well, just his flat now. Their flat, he corrected himself and smiled at the thought. They finished moving all of her stuff in with the help of John and Lestrade, and Sherlock couldn't have been happier while he watched her unpack her books and add them to his bookshelf.

"What," he remembered her saying as he stared at her and she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear that fell from her bun. He wanted to tell her how ecstatic he was that she was there and how she had changed his entire life and living together was such a pleasure for him, even though if somebody asked why he made the step he would say something about the logical implications of not having to pay for both flats. He found himself at a loss for words though and instead just shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he walked over to help her.

If he were telling the truth, he was happy that she was finally meeting his parents. Sherlock loved to show off and showing Molly off to his parents was something he could handle.

Just then the door swung open and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stood there, smiling widely at their son and his girlfriend.

"Sherlock!" shouted Mrs. Holmes and her boy looked annoyed by the sudden embrace she put on him. "Oh how we've missed you so. You never come around enough dear. You're father and I were just talking the other day about how we haven't seen you since Christmas. Christmas! And it's been seven months dear, you really need to come more often. Or at least call us more than once a month. We do worry about you, you know. I know that Mycroft keeps an eye on you but sometimes I wonder if that is enough. He said that…"

"Mummy," interrupted Sherlock when he had enough of her chatter. He looked over at Molly who had gone back to fumbling with her hands. Sherlock put his hand on her back and pushed her forward slightly. "Mummy, Father. I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Molly Hooper."

"Of course!" shouted Mrs. Holmes as she gave Molly a hug as well. Molly took it much better than Sherlock, even though she had only just met the woman. "It is so nice to finally meet you. Sherlock has never brought a girl home before. This is so exciting."

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Holmes," replied Molly once she had been released from the hug. "Sherlock has told me so much about you. Both of you," she added now while looking at Mr. Holmes. The statement was a lie, of course. Sherlock had never mentioned his parents but he appreciated the fib from Molly nonetheless.

"Molly," said Mr. Holmes as he took the pathologists hand in his own. "I hope you are watching over our Sherlock." Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked fully into the kitchen away from the three people before him.

"I try, Mr. Holmes," laughed Molly. "I'm sure you know how much of a handful he can be at times."

"Please call me Siger."

"And me Violet," added Mrs. Holmes as Molly smiled kindly at the two of them. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, tea would be lovely, thank you." Mr. Holmes motioned for Molly to take a seat at the kitchen table and she did so, right beside Sherlock who was struggling to stay in the present and not retreat to his mind palace. She reached under the table and put her hand on his knee, squeezing a bit to show that she appreciated the effort.

But actually, it wasn't that bad. As soon as Molly sat down she felt at home, like she was meant to be there. It was the same way she felt when she was at 221B Baker Street and she couldn't help but think that maybe being with the Holmes' was just something she was supposed to do. She smiled to herself and Violet set a cup of tea down in front of her.

"So, tell us Molly, about your job. Sherlock tells us you are a pathologist. How fascinating," said Violet who seemed genuinely interested and Molly breathed a sigh of relief. She started talking about what she did for a living, how she actually like doing post-mortems and Siger and Violet didn't find that strange at all. She had to remind herself that they raised Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. They had seen it all by this point.

"Of course Sherlock is always interrupting me at work, wanting me to examine a body for a case or run a few tests for him. Or smuggle body parts to his flat."

"Smuggle isn't really the appropriate word. You donate body parts so that I can better solve cases. And you love it when I interrupt you at work, Molly Hooper," replied Sherlock haughtily which made Molly giggle and the Holmes parents smile on.

"Oh that sounds just like our Sherlock," said Mrs. Holmes. "I hope he doesn't bother you too much."

"Oh no. He's right. Most of the time I enjoy it."

"And the other times?" asked Siger.

"Well… I've had plenty of time to learn how to handle Sherlock." She looked to Sherlock who looked away suddenly. The Holmes couple chuckled, knowing that their boy was safe in the hands of this pathologist.

"So how long have you two been together? Will we be hearing wedding bells soon?" asked Violet suddenly which threw both Sherlock and Molly for a loop. They exchanged a quick glance, Molly willing him with her eyes to answer the question himself. He looked back, trying to get her to answer. After a few seconds, Sherlock cleared his throat and looked down at his hands which he was wringing together, much like the act he had scolded Molly for doing.

"We've been together for about four months," he replied a bit shakily. His thoughts raced quickly. He honestly never thought about marriage with Molly. He was just getting used to the idea of having a girlfriend. And they were living together. Getting married wouldn't change anything, really. "We..er… we're happy where we are right now," Sherlock finished with a breath as redness tinged his cheeks.

His mother was about to ask another question when they were interrupted by a knock at the door and then the door opening. Mycroft walked in, swinging his umbrella with a cold expression on his face.

"Mykie!" exclaimed Mrs. Holmes as she ran to hug her other boy. "Both of you here at once; it's like Christmas! You're just in time for dinner. Please say you'll stay."

"My names is Mycroft. Please do try to get it right. And I can't, Mummy. I have a matter of national importance that I need to discuss with my brother. Sherlock?" said Mycroft now, brushing off his mother and turning to his brother. He didn't answer.

"Sherlock," Molly said and his eyes immediately popped open, his blue irises staring into her big brown eyes. "Mycroft needs to talk to you." He turned his head and narrowed his eyes are his brother.

He noticed his fidgeting hand, the way he swung his umbrella which he only did when he was largely stressed, and the way his eyes were boring into Sherlock. Sherlock got up without a word and followed his brother outside, closing the door behind him. He smiled slightly as he walked into the yard. His parents really did like Molly and he thought he evaded the marriage question well. He wasn't sure what to expect out of this afternoon but everything was going swimmingly. They seemed to be getting along just fine.

"Mycroft," said Sherlock by way of recognition.

"Brother mine," replied Mycroft. They stood at the end of the yard, facing outward. "I see you've decided to introduce the girlfriend to Mummy and Daddy."

"Yes, well it was more Mummy insisting that I bring her over," he smiled thoughtfully then. "They like her, though." Mycroft rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Getting to the matter at hand… we have a problem."

"We always have a problem."

"Yes, well this is a Moriarty problem," replied Mycroft and Sherlock's eyes grew large. They had locked Moriarty up four months ago and Mycroft had been keeping an extremely close eye on him. "It seems as if his network is building."

"But I defeated the network."

"Not all of it. But I've gotten a few hints that they're working on a plan. A plan to get him out of prison."

"Impossible."

"Yes, it is. But they're still dangerous."

"So you want me to take them down?" asked Sherlock. Mycroft simply nodded and Sherlock sighed deeply.

"You don't have to do it yet. I don't have any locations. But I'm working on it diligently, of course and I… what on Earth are you doing?" Mycroft looked at his little brother in disgust as Sherlock sniffed his shoulder, ignoring everything the elder Holmes was saying.

"Smelling you. I know that cologne from… Oh Lord," replied Sherlock in complete shock as he took several steps back from his brother. "What the hell, Mycroft?" he nearly shouted.

"What?" asked Mycroft in exasperation.

"You're shagging Garrett Lestrade!" yelled Sherlock now as Mycroft's face turned a shade of pink that Sherlock had never seen on the man's face.

"It's Greg," said Mycroft but then looked away, realizing his mistake.

"For how long?" spat Sherlock.

"Just recently. Don't make a big deal, Sherlock." The two men stood in silence, trying to overcome the uncomfortable tension that settled in the air around them like cigarette smoke.

"Looks like you've found your goldfish, too," Sherlock finally smirked, finally getting over the shock of the situation. Looking back, it made sense to Sherlock why the two of them would get together. They were both career driven, both loved the thrill of being in charge, both were able to handle Sherlock.

"Oh do shut up," replied Mycroft and the two brothers stood there in silence for a few minutes. "Please don't tell anyone," said Mycroft in a voice that Sherlock had never heard. The younger Holmes simply nodded.

"So, Moriarty?"

"Moriarty," replied his brother, relieved that Sherlock had dropped the subject and the two men devised a plan for their next steps.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly was spread out on the couch when Sherlock got back from Scotland Yard. He had been working on some museum break-ins where the suspect was stealing fake plants from the displays. The case was hardly a six, but it was enough to keep him busy for the time being. He had just cracked it and was in a good mood, judging from the way he smiled at Molly when he walked in.

"Dr. Hooper," he said in greeting.

"Mr. Holmes," she said back and resumed reading the romance novel she had been working on. Sherlock could never understand why she read those when one, she was far too intelligent for anything so juvenile and two, she already had a boyfriend. He must have been staring at her because she called out suddenly, "I read them because I like them, Sherlock," without even looking up from the book. He sighed and walked into the kitchen to sort through the mail he had picked up. He shifted through some bills, a few letters about cases, and some advertisements before getting to a bright yellow envelope addressed to Molly.

"Molly Hooper," he called out and she made a grunt in recognition. "I thought we agreed not to tell anyone you're living here." Ever since the deal with Moriarty, Sherlock had been extra careful with Molly, making sure that no other criminal masterminds would use her to get to him. So, when she officially moved in, they agreed to just keep it between themselves and the Watsons. Sherlock thought Molly would be safer that way; people were less likely to find her. They had managed to keep their relationship from the tabloids so far; Sherlock suspected that it wouldn't take much longer to figure it out, though. And once that was out, anyone wanting to get to Sherlock could get to Molly. But Mycroft had her security raised. They kept her flat to use as a bolt hole.

"We did agree. And I didn't tell anyone. Why?"

"You've received a letter." He stared at the offending envelope closely, trying to figure out who the sender could have been. The handwriting was loopy but tiny, meaning it was a woman. The envelope was neat and not smudged in the slightest, meaning that women liked Molly and it was not easily bent, meaning stronger paper on the inside. But it didn't have a return address which meant Molly would already know it. An invitation, perhaps? But to what? Molly's only good girl friend was Mary and if she were having an event Sherlock would have already known about it.

"It's from your mum," said Molly as she snapped the envelope out of his hand and went to sit on the counter. She opened the envelope and began to read, smiling at the contents.

"You said you didn't tell anybody. And why would my mum be sending you mail?" he asked exasperated. Ever since beginning to date Molly, he had learned a bit more about women but they still baffled him.

"I didn't tell her, Sherlock, but she has eyes. And she invited me for tea next week. That's sweet," she said while blushing into the letter. She had never gotten along with her own mother and she hadn't seen her in years. And her father had been dead for many years. She missed him dearly and always wished to have a mother figure around, which was why she visited with Mrs. Hudson so much. And visiting with Sherlock's parents made her feel strangely at home. They welcomed her without question and she enjoyed her afternoon with them.

"Are you going to go?" he asked her, feeling strange from the smile she had on her face right then. But it was a good strange. Because she looked genuinely happy, and that made him happy.

"I'd like to. Is that okay with you?" she asked timidly.

"Why wouldn't that be okay with me?" he questioned as he began to pull out a heart from the freezer.

"Well you're so quiet about your parents. I just wasn't sure if…"

"Molly." He stopped her by placing his hands on her shoulders. "I am aware that you are lacking parental figures in your life and that you miss that aspect of it. So, if my parents provide you that role and with the happiness that you desire, then I encourage any relationship you wish to pursue with them. Just because I struggle with maintaining that relationship doesn't mean that you have to as well. You are the closest thing that I have ever had to a real family, so you mingling with my biological family only makes sense." He stared at her for a few long seconds before she smiled and caught him by surprise by leaving a lingering kiss on his lips. He smiled back and returned to the heart. "So on to other matters. Am I the only one who didn't know about Lestrade and Mycroft?"

She busted out laughing, clutching her stomach and Sherlock pouted a bit from where he stood. It had been several days since they had gone to see his parents and since he figured out about his brother's relationship. The relationship itself didn't bother him but the fact that he hasn't known sooner was clawing at his mind. He thought that perhaps he had noticed but pushed it into his subconscious. His brother, after all, was always the one opposed to such encounters. And Sherlock hardly sensed how he had time to be in a relationship when he was busy running the country.

When Molly finally caught her breath she reached up and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "Yes. I was going to tell you sooner but I wanted to wait to see how long it took to figure it out. John and Mary will be upset. They wanted to see the look on your face when you found out. I'm sorry we didn't tell you, love."

"Pet names, Molly," he warned as she walked to the living room and back to her book.

"You love them, Sherlock." He snorted in protest but quickly went over to his desk to retrieve his laptop as he let the heart thaw out a bit. He glanced at Molly, her hair thrown across a throw pillow, the evening sun coming through the window, setting fire to the tips and lighting up her eyes. He once said that he was unaware of the beautiful. But that had changed, for he was now very aware of Molly and how his stomach stirred when her eyes caught his.

"You're staring," she said with a grin, her head rolled back and he took her all in, even though he already had everything about her catalogued. She stared back at him, his left leg resting over his right, his laptop balanced between them. They enjoyed moments like these, the quiet ones where they were both locked up inside their own heads but there with each other at the same time, how easily they fit together in that flat.

"Molly Hooper, you make a good companion," he said.

"I love you, too," she replied and watched with delight as a light pink blush spread across his cheeks, his head turning so his curls could hide his eyes. The words I love you never left his lips. The closest he ever got was the day they defeated Tom and Moriarty, but he said it in other ways, ways that Molly always picked up on.

He had just opened the cover after watching Molly turn back to her book when a message appeared on the screen before him. He settled down in his chair to get a better look.

**WELCOME TO THE SPYDERS WEB**

The screen was all black with the message written in large bold, red lettering. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows together and ran his mouse over the words. When he did so they changed to a dark blue in color. He clicked and was brought to a different screen, this one being all white with the outlines of a drawn spider web. The screen stayed like that for several seconds before it brought up a new window containing at least a dozen different folders, all labeled with a different name. Sherlock studied the names carefully, going through his mind palace to see if he could place any of them. He pulled open drawers and ran down corridors, searching for any clues he could. When he came back with nothing, he clicked on the first folder there.

**Paul Wise**

** Age 42**

** 6' 0''**

** Last seen: California, USA**

Sherlock looked at the contents confused by what he saw but cataloguing the information into his mind anyway. He clicked on some more folders, each containing the same type of information. He analyzed it all, turning it around and around in his head before it clicked into place. Moriarty's network was building back up. Mycroft didn't have any leads yet. Well here those leads were. But how did they get onto his laptop? He went through his browsing history, tracking everything and wondering if it could have downloaded that way. He turned the laptop over, checking to see if anything was attached or if there were any drives connected. He found nothing, so picked up his phone and began to dial Mycroft.

Molly, who started to watch him after he made some sounds of disapproval, spoke up. "Is everything okay?" she asked and he attempted to smile genuinely at her. He didn't need her worrying about Moriarty after everything she had already been through with him.

"Yes, it's fine. I just have to make a call. Mycroft. Case stuff," he replied and began to walk toward the bedroom. She didn't believe him, but decided to drop it for now and return to her book.

Meanwhile, Sherlock held his phone in his ear, careful to be quiet for Molly's sake. He walked to the window, looking out on the streets of London while waiting for Mycroft to pick up. He had the nagging feeling that a time was coming when he would have to leave those streets again. To leave John, Mary, Ava, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. He sighed heavily, having flashbacks to the days without them all and how lonely he had been.

He felt in the air though, that change was coming once again. The Earth was starting to rumble beneath his feet, the air was different somehow, weighted down with the prospect of leaving his beloved London. He hadn't always lived there, only moving when he went off to university. But ever since then he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that it was one place where he belonged, no matter how many of his ups and down had taken place there. Leaving again would detrimental. London was Baker Street. Baker Street was his home. Home was where his family was and although none of this would have mattered years ago, it mattered now. He would have taken off on a plane the next day had it not been for his friends.

He supposed that leaving only mattered to him because it mattered to them, but it was all the same. He couldn't bear not knowing every second of Molly's day or what cases Lestrade was working on or what a mundane day John and Mary had at work. And he couldn't bear to not ramble off about cases to people or complain about someone who was being stupid. Because not that he got used to talking to actual people, talking to a skull wouldn't cut it anymore.

So while he looked at the window, he hoped. He wasn't one for hoping, but he had seen plenty of miraculous things in his life to still hold hope. He thought of Molly in the other room, the sun setting on her face and how lucky he had been in that regard. So he hoped he wouldn't have to leave, that he could occupy himself with cases here instead of going who knows where. But he knew right then, that the world was against him once again. And if it meant protecting his friends, he would go anywhere, do anything it took if it meant that they would be safe. Mycroft's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Hello, little brother."

"Mycroft," said Sherlock and took a breath and one last glance at the streets below before getting the next few words out. "Prepare a trip. We have a new web to dismantle."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry this took so long. The action will be picking up very soon, I promise. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!-thefaultoflegend**

"Okay here's her diaper bag. It has bottles, diapers, wipes, powder, bibs, extra clothes, some toys, blankets…"

"John, I've watched her before. I'm perfectly capable. And I don't see why you need all this junk anyway. I barely use any of it," replied Sherlock as he grabbed the bag and baby Ava off of John. The almost five month old curled up in her godfather's arm and giggled up at him.

"Okay well call me or Mary or Mrs. Hudson or Molly if you need anything," said John with a bit of worry on his face. Sherlock had watched John's daughter before without any issue but it was only a matter of time before he started taking the child on cases or experimenting on her. "Goodbye, Ava. Love you," said John as he leaned over and kissed his daughter on the forehead. She smiled up at her father before he walked out of the door and down the stairs of 221B.

"Well, Ms. Watson," said Sherlock as he went to sit in his chair. "What are we going to do today?" He went to grab a book to read when his phone rang and he picked it up to see that his brother was calling. With a sigh he shifted Ava to one arm and answered with the other. "Mycroft," he scoffed.

"Brother Mine," said Mycroft on the other end. He was probably sitting in his office, his feet propped up on his desk, waiting for a new call to come in. In Sherlock's mind, his brother only called when he got bored, same as Sherlock would take to shooting walls or going to find Molly. "I need you to come to the Diogenes immediately. We have plans to discuss regarding your current case."

"I am babysitting, Mycroft and I have strict orders to not bring Ava on any cases of mine or yours or anybody's. The Watsons and Molly would have my head."

"And since when do you care about that?" asked Mycroft with disgust in his voice. "I only want to talk, Sherlock. I'm sure that the young Watson will be fine sitting here in my office. It's one of the safest places in the world." Ava made some gurgling noises from Sherlock's arms and started to fuss a bit. He stood up and paced the room, bouncing her gently.

"I'll see what I can do," said the younger Holmes and hung up on his brother. "Ava, please do hope that your parents don't desire to procreate any further. Siblings can be most bothersome. Look at your Dad's sister. She's a drunk. My brother thinks he can boss me around whenever he wants. I suppose he does come in handy sometimes when it comes to things like faking one's death. However, I wouldn't be in those messes if it wasn't for him in the first place. I'd probably be in a drug den somewhere, though…" Sherlock trailed off as the girl calmed at her god-father's voice. "Right, well, looks like we're going on a trip," he said and set off to get ready.

A half an hour later, Sherlock stormed into his brother's office with baby Ava attached to his front in a sling which Molly had purchased for him as a joke. It seemed to become useful, now however, as Ava was calm during the entire ride to the Diogenes and it was much less bulky than that idiotic baby carrier her parents insisted on using. When Sherlock entered the room, baby on his front and a pink diaper bag draping his shoulder, Mycroft couldn't help but break into uproarious laughter at the sight of his brother. He put a hand on his desk and doubled over while Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and deposited the bag and the sling on a chair, holding Ava in his arms protectively.

"Oh do shut up," started Sherlock. "You're the one who wanted me to bring her down here."

"Yes but what is that ridiculous thing?" asked Mycroft as he pointed to the sling. Ava started crying then, which was unusual for the little girl as she was a happy baby by nature and easy for Sherlock to take care of.

"Shush. You're upsetting her," replied the godfather as he worked to make the little girl a bottle.

"Sherlock, which is more important? The state of Moriarty's large criminal network or the state of your god-daughter?"

Sherlock eyed his brother for a second and then gave a softer look at the little girl in his arms who was now sucking on her bottle happily and staring up at the consulting detective. "Don't make me answer that," whispered Sherlock in a voice that Mycroft had never heard before.

He cleared his throat and his thoughts drifted softly to the place that his brother and he came from as opposed to where they were now. Five or six years ago, these types of things never would have happened. Sherlock Holmes never would have walked into the Diogenes with a baby. He would never be planning on going to see his girlfriend afterward. He wouldn't later return home to see his best friends and eat dinner with the family that he created for himself.

And Mycroft wouldn't let his brother's statement slide without comment. That he cares more for his god-daughter than anything else. Mycroft understood now. Because now, he didn't go back to an apartment alone to sulk in front of a news program. He went back to see his boyfriend and enjoy an hour or two off with a glass of wine and good conversation. He even thought about coming out, quite often in fact. So, yes. The Holmes brothers changed and at first Mycroft thought that it was for the worst. But the further they get, the further he realizes that it is for the better.

"What did you have to tell me?" asked Sherlock suddenly and Mycroft smiled slowly. Well, maybe not everything has changed.

"I looked at the computer program and I've been investigation. The twelve people on this virus are still out there, and their network is only getting stronger as time goes on. They are scattered all throughout the world. I imagine that these are important points in the web and if we take them down then the entire network comes down. Even breaking half of it would break the entirety. The web is weak but we both know that it won't remain like that. So, you need to go in and stop them. They are well protected, well hidden, so we have to send the best."

"I'll take that as a compliment," smirked Sherlock.

"Yes, well. Basically, you are needed again. I don't know how long it will take, I must warn you. It could be a few weeks, could be a few months, could be a year. It will probably be dangerous. However, I do not believe we really have a choice. If they succeed, nothing will stop them. Moriarty has taught these men how to take down entire governments. And you know what happens when someone gets even a small taste of power. You have to go."

Sherlock looked at the bundle in his arms who was now dozing off against his chest. She smelled of lavender shampoo and baby powder. Her nose wrinkled adorably in her sleep as she lifted a small first to her mouth to suck on when he took away the bottle. His heart softened as he stared at her and Mycroft's words began to sink in.

He had to go away again, just when he was getting the hang of being a part of something. Sherlock Holmes wasn't one to join groups. He was a loner. An isolate. A sociopath. But that wasn't the case anymore. He held sentiment for many people and enjoyed the small family he had created.

Leaving the first time was awful. He was still scarred from the experience and often times woke up covered in sweat and frantically searching for his loved ones, thinking that he was away in Serbia or Tokyo or Madrid being chased. He would actually be in his bed looking over to see Molly sleeping peacefully beside him. Or he would startle in his chair only to wake up and see John playing with Ava or Mrs. Hudson cleaning up or a text from Lestrade with more cases and he would thank a god that he didn't believe in that he was there with them and not by himself. They grounded him. They made him forget about all the horror he had seen. And he supposed that it was naïve to think that the extended trips were no longer going to be an occurrence.

Now he would be gone and he would wake up to an empty bed or an empty chair next to him or chained up in some cell with no one to bail him out. He would call and hear the strained voice of Molly as she tried not to cry about him no longer being around. He would receive pictures of Ava taking part in all of her milestones. He would get a text from Mycroft about coming out with Greg. And Sherlock would sit once again and break bit by bit, taking the network down with him. His eyes turned sad, his face forlorn, as he stared at his goddaughter and uttered his next words. "Will they be protected?"

"The Watsons will continue to have the highest level of protection, I assure you," replied Mycroft whose eyes also drifted to little Ava.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Of course."

"And Molly?" asked Sherlock with a small, almost unnoticeable quiver in his voice but Mycroft picked up on it instantly.

"She is safe, Sherlock. I will personally make myself responsible for her protection. She will be well taken care of. She is currently residing at Baker Street, correct?" Sherlock nodded and looked away, out into the sun streaming through Mycroft's windows, of the way the room lit up and the oak of his office turned more red under its glow. They were silent for a few minutes.

"I'm sure you will also make yourself personally responsible for Gabe Lestrade's protection," Sherlock said with a smile.

"Very funny, Sherlock. Hysterical. And it's Greg. You know that," said Mycroft as the two of them stood up, Sherlock repositioning Ava in her sling and Mycroft smoothing out his suit. "I'll send you my current information. You leave in three days. We're going to start at what I believe is the top of this chain. Paul Wise. You're going to California. So I'd start saying your goodbyes."

"Goodbye, Mycroft."

"Sherlock," the brother replied as he watched the detective walk out, a slump in his shoulders that he hadn't seen in a long time, while cooing quietly to Ava, raising her up to kiss her when he thought Mycroft couldn't see him anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm sorry this is such a slow start to this story but I hope you're still enjoying it. I'm also sorry for taking longer to update this time around. It seems as though I may have taken on too many projects at once. Thanks to everyone for reading!-thefaultoflegend**

Molly stood over a body in the morgue, elbows deep in blood from an elderly woman who died of a heart attack. She was on a roll that day, completing her work quickly and she smiled to herself softly, knowing that getting off work early meant spending time with Ava and Sherlock, which always brightened her mood.

Years ago she would stay at work for as long as she could stay awake, not wanting to go back alone to her small one bedroom flat with the cramped living corners and the cold draft that leaked through the walls. Now, she loved finishing quickly and getting back to Baker Street to see her consulting detective. Even if he was off on a case, his flat was so much more inviting with traces of him being left in the brightly colored liquids sitting it petri dishes on the counter cluttered with tools he nicked from the morgue, in the cooled cup of tea that was abandoned by his chair, a book laying over its arm left after he would get too antsy to sit any longer, in his smell left in his sheets, of his cologne and nicotine and the London air. She greeted Baker Street like an old friend and rushed to get there. That was if Sherlock wasn't already sitting in the lab or the morgue with her, talking about his cases and bouncing ideas off of her.

She was startled suddenly when she heard a knock at the window above the morgue. She turned sharply, holding her hands up in the air as to not get blood anywhere. Her ponytail swished to the side and she narrowed her eyes to get a better look. What she saw made the corners of her mouth turn up. Sherlock was standing there with Ava wrapped in her sling. He motioned for her to join him, his eyes saying that he wanted to see her, but she held up her hands, mouthing, "I'm a bit busy." He gave her a small pout and she rolled her eyes. She held up a hand. Five minutes. He nodded and winked at her before turning to go to the lab. She finished up and marveled at the fact that she had managed to get to the point with someone where they could have entire conversations without saying anything at all.

When she stepped into the lab, she immediately noticed his downcast eyes, the frown on his face, and his closed off body stance, his shoulders hunched over and both of his arms wrapped around Ava. Her heart sank a bit at the sight of him, as the last time she saw him like this was when they had realized that Moriarty had returned. She bit her lip, her thoughts trailing backward in time. "Hello there," she said finally and approached him, placing a kiss on both his and Ava's foreheads when he looked up.

"Hello there," he returned and shifted Ava to his left arm so Molly could sit in his lap. He cuddled his two girls close. "Heart attack?" he asked.

"Yeah. I only have one more to go. How has Ava been today?" she replied.

"Good. She's been a little bit grumpy but I deduced it's because her mother switched her formula and her stomach can't handle it. I'll have to inform Mary." Molly nodded, tensing a bit. Their conversation was stiff and awkward, at least to her.

"You have to tell me something and it's a bad something so please just do it and get it over with," she said, her voice coming out fast and he sighed into her, tucking her head under his chin.

He didn't want to have this conversation with her. The entire way over here he tried to think about the case he read that morning, when Ava was going to take her first steps, how he was going to tell Lestrade he knew about him and Mycroft. But his minded kept drifting to the pathologist in the morgue who was about to receive bad news. There would probably be some sort of fight, not out of anger, but out of pure hurt. Of betrayal. None of it was either of their faults, of course. It was as if the world was betraying them. Giving them something good before pulling the rug out from under their feet.

Sherlock sat up straighter and unconsciously tightened his grip on Molly's waist. He took a few deep breaths, readying himself, telling himself that he had to be sensitive to what she was feeling and he couldn't lash out and when she started crying he had to comfort her, he couldn't just ignore it.

"I have to leave, Molly," he forced out. She didn't seem shocked at all.

"Why? You only just got here."

"No. I don't mean right now. I mean in three days. I have to leave. I don't know where I'm going and I don't know how long I'll be gone." She stared at him for a second, her gaze piercing into his eyes that looked grey in the light and held so much hurt that just recently had vanished completely. Now it was back, in full force and she frowned at the seriousness of the situation. He wasn't going to Rome for three days to solve a case of a drug smuggler. He wasn't undercover in the homeless network for a week, returning to the flat whenever he needed a shower. This was big, Moriarty network big, she realized. He didn't have to say anything and he knew that. She would pick up on it. She was clever. She blinked, shocked, standing up, pacing between the lab tables.

"Like before?" she asked nervously.

"Sort of."

"Tell me what's going on."

"I can't."

"You can."

"Molly."

"Sherlock." She eyed him carefully, his gaze not meeting hers. She felt tears stinging her eyes, one threatening to drip down her nose. She felt this as soon as she walked into the lab. She couldn't believe it was happening again. He was leaving again.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this," she said and turned away from him, bracing herself against a lab desk. He stood up and suddenly wished he had brought the baby carrier, if only he could use both arms to comfort Molly. Instead he threw an arm over her shoulder, holding her stiffly against him. He tried several times to form a sentence, to say something even remotely comforting, but nothing would come. So he just stood there, they just stood there. For several minutes they were both lost in their own thoughts. "What could possibly be happening that you have to leave, Sherlock? That you don't know when you're coming back. Moriarty is in jail."

"But his network isn't. Not all of it. They're trying to get him out. I have to step in."

"I'm coming with you," she said suddenly and that was the last thing he was expecting.

"What? No. No you are not. Do not be ridiculous. You are staying here."

"I can help you! I've helped you before with all kinds of cases. I faked your death for Christ's sake. I can handle…"

"But this is a trip, Molly. This is so much different from that. It's danger…"

"It's dangerous? Oh like that one time that I dated the world's number one criminal? Or that time I faked a death, automatically planting a target on my back? Or that time I dated yet another criminal, broke up with him, and killed him when he came after me? I think I can handle it."

"You're not going. You are staying here," he said firmly, his temper rising dramatically.

"Why? So you can assert some sort of control over me? No. You can't be alone. Do you know what happens when you're alone, Sherlock? I don't want another repeat…"

"I know what happens when I'm alone, Molly. Do you forget that I've done this before? That I spent two years without so much as a phone call."

"But I was there! During those two years who was cleaning up your cuts and making your meals and making sure you got sleep? Are you still going to come back to me?"

He didn't even blink as the words left his mouth. They were automatic. "I will always come back to you. Always."

She sighed heavily. "Why can't I just come with you?" she practically begged.

"Because I can't lose you!" His voice rose dramatically and Ava started crying as Sherlock immediately regretted the yelling. He bounced her lightly. Molly put a hand to her forehead.

"Take her home. We'll talk later," said Molly and then crossed her arms across her chest. Sherlock's eyes were filled with regret as they flitted from a crying Ava to a teary-eyed Molly and he hated himself for reducing two of his favorite girls to tears so quickly.

He walked over to her and gave a long kiss to her forehead. She couldn't help but relax a little bit, her eyes closing at his touch. "I'm sorry, Molly. I…" he trailed off, his breath hot against her forehead. Instead, he kissed her again and headed off. Suddenly, Molly was torn between wanting to rush home and wanting to stay right there.

She knew what she had to do, though, to get her way. She made a call and fifteen minutes later was in a black car, traveling to the outskirts of London, far away from anyone who could see or hear. She walked in the office, noticing the way that Mycroft's shoulders slumped over as he stared at his laptop. She sat in front of him. He didn't look up.

"You want to go with him," he said simply, the clacking of keys filling the holes of silence around them.

"Yes. But he isn't keen on the idea," replied Molly firmly. She had long ago lost her nervousness around Mycroft Holmes.

"Consider it done." She looked up, this shocked her. She hadn't expected the elder Holmes to budge so easily. "I've been thinking about it since he left here earlier. He isn't going to like it, but he needs you. And it seems as if you and Moriarty are like a package deal. So I suppose you should ride it out until the end." He finally looked up and held her gaze. "I will keep you safe if you keep him safe." She smiled softly at him and he smiled back, sealing the deal with something better than a handshake. Molly stood up and crossed over his desk, planting a soft kiss to his temple.

"Thank you, Mycroft."

When she got back to the flat that evening, she didn't say anything to Sherlock. She watched him pack, putting clothes into a small suitcase, a frown taking over his face. They were still cross with each other, only muttering a few words here and there, keeping their distance. Molly knew he would be angry when she told him, but he had to know.

"I talked to Mycroft," she whispered that night into the darkness of their bedroom. She felt him breathe heavily, the mattress rising and falling with his weight.

"I know. And I can't believe you would go behind my back like that," he replied angrily and flipped over onto his side away from her. She reached out and hesitantly laid a hand on his back.

"Please, Sherlock."

"Don't, Molly," he said back and she removed her hand, turning over to face the opposite wall and wondering if she made the wrong decision.


	7. Chapter 7

Things were still tense three days later when Sherlock and Molly were on the plane to California. The last three days were busy with packing and explanations to their friends and saying goodbye. There was no time to talk about their little fight.

Sherlock didn't say anything to her the day before they were supposed to leave and the silence fell over them like a heavy piece of lead. If his aim was to make Molly feel horrible, it was working. She felt dreadful and what she once thought was a good decision, asking Mycroft, she now believed to be possibly the worst. Because for once Sherlock was right about their relationship; she shouldn't have gone behind his back like that. She should have gone back to the flat and convinced him to let her go. Mycroft was the easy way out. Molly knew deep down that he would go along with her, that he would send her with Sherlock.

She was sitting on the couch with a mug of tea in her hand, taking a break from packing, just as he was about to leave, to where, she didn't know. He was brooding and she hated seeing him like that, and hated it even more that she was the one who put him in that state. He had his hand on the doorknob when she spoke up, her first words to him in days.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," she said softly, her eyes staring down into the hot liquid, trying to let the sweet aroma calm her nerves. He simply grunted and walked out, shutting the door behind him. She felt deflated, tears beginning to prick at her eyes threatening to fall over. What was the use of going with him if they were just going to fight the whole time? But in the next second the door opened again and he made three steps toward her. She looked up into his eyes and saw his expression soften a bit as he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

"We'll talk later," he muttered and then exited again, but Molly couldn't help but feel a little bit better.

Sherlock sent a text to Lestrade and John when he left the flat and climbed into a cab.

Angelo's. 12:00 –SH

Is this a date, Sunshine? –GL

What's wrong, Sherlock? –JW

I need advice. –SH

Stop laughing. –SH

Still laughing. But I'll be there –JW

Be there in ten. I'm recording this conversation, though –GL

For Sherlock, he was mad. And in his mind he had every right to be. He had always thought that Molly was on his side, not his brother's. And now his brother was putting his pathologist in danger for absolutely no reason. He didn't need someone there with him. Yes, Molly would be a comfort. But he would do anything to keep her safe.

He called Mycroft from the cab, his brother's voice putting him more on edge than what was normal. "You're putting her in danger," said Sherlock as soon as Mycroft picked up.

Mycroft sighed heavily, knowing that he would eventually receive a call from his enraged brother. "She's an important asset to this, Sherlock. She's been a part of this mission since the very beginning; you can't deny that."

"Yes but she has never been put in the line of fire…"

"She's the reason we were able to jail Moriarty in the first place! Dr. Hooper and I have an understanding, Sherlock. I will assure that she won't be put into any danger."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked out the window, out into the London rain. "I don't like that you're in cahoots with my girlfriend."

"You're in cahoots with my partner as well," replied Mycroft easily.

"That's…beside the point…"

"Just prepare for your trip, Sherlock. I'm emailing you the details as we speak. I'll see you tomorrow."

When he arrived at Angelo's, John and Lestrade were already there, chatting about a case Lestrade was on. Sherlock had it solved before he even sat down. "If the brother has a yellow car, arrest him," he said quickly when he sat and then ruffled his curls.

"Well hello to you, too," replied Lestrade with a grin. Sherlock grunted and the group gave their orders, save for Sherlock, before John spoke up.

"So what seems to be the problem, Sherlock? I didn't know you were on a case," said John and Sherlock sighed in reply.

"I'm having brother problems. And…girlfriend problems. And I am on a case and it's extremely important and I'm leaving the country for an undecidable amount of time. And apparently Molly is coming with me," replied the consulting detective.

"Wait. You're leaving?" said Lestrade.

"Yes." He looked around the restaurant, looking for anybody who could be listening in, and then leaned in to his two friends. "Moriarty's network is building back up."

"But he's in jail," said John.

"Yes. But it turns out I didn't annihilate the network the first time. Mycroft and I have some leads and I'm following them. I don't really know when I'll be back. I'm sure Mycroft will be in contact soon. He probably has a plan to cover for my absence."

"And Molly's going with you?" asked Lestrade.

"That's where my problems come in. She went to Mycroft, behind my back, and asked him to send her with me."

"And now you're angry with her."

"Unbelievably. And I'm mad at your boyfriend." Greg shot him a look. "Yes, I know about your relationship. The last to know apparently." He signed deeply. "So what do I do?"

"I say you let her go with you," said John to which Lestrade nodded his head in agreement. "She keeps you straight, Sherlock. And the chances of you getting yourself killed are greatly diminished if she goes."

"But the chances of her getting killed are greatly increased."

"I understand that, Sherlock. But just because you're her boyfriend doesn't mean you can make her decisions for her. And if you try to she's going to get mad and she's going to go against you. Molly has always been the one to protect you; that's all you've ever given her. And now she's just continuing that. You can't blame her for that. She loves you," replied John.

"And as for Mycroft," said Lestrade. "He really cares for you, Sherlock. He's told me about it. And if he thinks that Molly going with you is for the best, than you need to let her go." Sherlock simply nodded, realizing that his friends were right.

And now here he was the next day on the plane, staring at Molly staring out the window. Her hair was lit up from the sun coming in through the window, but a frown sat on her face and he knew that it was his fault that it was there. He reached over hesitantly and grabbed her hand, causing her to look over at him. "Are you still cross with me?" she whispered gently and he kissed her knuckles softly, a gesture that usually wasn't like Sherlock.

"No. I shouldn't have tried to make a decision for you," he replied. "And I'm sorry."

She eyed him suspiciously and cracked a smile. "You got that from John," and he nodded slowly, a smile now spread across his face as well. He leaned over and kissed her quickly, softly. "I've missed you," she mumbled afterward and he nodded his head in reply. And their fight was over as quickly as it began.

Molly leaned her head on his shoulder after that, thinking back to that morning. Everyone had come over to 221B to say goodbye and Molly had shed a tear or two. Sherlock pretended to be stoic about the entire situation, but everybody could see that he was sad to go, too. He held onto his goddaughter the entire time that the Watsons were there, speaking softly to her whenever he thought no one was paying attention. When Lestrade went to hug him he didn't look the least bit awkward. And when John went to shake his hand, Sherlock shockingly went in for a hug.

They all knew that the pair would return to London, but that didn't mean that leaving was any easier.

At LAX, Sherlock picked up Molly's luggage from baggage claim which earned him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. "Mycroft is having a car picking us up. We're currently posing as a married couple. Our last name is Smith."

"Smith? How original," said Molly sarcastically.

"Yes. Well next time we'll let you pick the name. Anyway, I'm a banker from London. You're a house wife."

"Boring."

"Yes. But just play along please. You are accompanying me on this trip because we're taking a holiday while we're here and you've always longed to go to Los Angeles. We…"

"Sherlock, wait." She grabbed his arm and stopped him in the middle of the crowd. "We haven't talked in three days. Don't you think we need to actually discuss what's going on?"

"I am discussing it."

"No I mean… we're a team, Sherlock. And you have to keep me filled in. No going out in the middle of the night without telling me. No racing off down the street when you've found a lead." He looked away from her, past her head and into the crowd. "Sherlock…" she said in a warning tone.

"Our current target is an English man who now works here under the alias of a banker. I'm going in tomorrow to a board meeting. I will then get the target into his office where a team of Mycroft's men will capture him and put him in jail. I will tell you as much as I can from here on out is that good enough?" he asked and dragged her along, heading toward a group of people who were holding signs. Sherlock headed toward the one that said Smith.

"That's good enough," she said. He stopped abruptly in front of her and turned sharply before she could bump into his back.

"I almost forgot," he said and reached into his pocket, pulling out three rings. Molly gasped audibly, knowing they were fake but not being able to help the images that passed through her head as he placed a simple gold band on himself and an engagement ring and wedding band on Molly. "Mrs. Smith," he said and held out his arm for her to take.

"Mr. Smith," she returned and the two set off toward their driver.


	8. Chapter 8

"I hate this blasted hair dye," mumbled Sherlock as Molly pushed his head under the sink and ran her fingers through his curls, rinsing out the excess dye. It was later the same day and the couple was working on their disguises at their hotel. Sherlock was currently sporting a blond do, with blond patches of facial hair to go along with it. When Molly was done rinsing and towel drying his hair, he sat forward and shook out his damp tresses before putting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He sighed deeply and Molly felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach while watching him, the scars that graced his back and sides a reminder to the last time he had to do this.

But that's what she was here for, moral support, pushing Sherlock through yet another mission, trying to make sure he didn't get caught up in too much trouble, trying to avoid another torture incident. It was after the first time they made love that she mentioned it. She noticed the large red marks across his body and touched them carefully. They were long healed by then but to her they were brand new, yet another thing she didn't know about Sherlock. She thought she had memorized every curve, every mark, every scar, every freckle, during the time that she was patching up his bumps and bruises, but she hadn't done that in years.

"They're fine now," she remembered him whispering as he held her tightly, sweat cooling on his skin and his breathing returning to a normal pace.

"But they didn't used to be," she whispered back and he shook his head. She figured if she was going to get anything out of him it was now, while they were lying skin to skin, wrapped up in each other. "What happened?" she pressed and he planted a kiss on her forehead before lying back and letting his eyes drift shut.

"Tortured trying to hunt down one of Moriarty's men. The last one to be exact. Mycroft was there."

"He let this happen to you?" she questioned in shock and he shrugged. She was furious in those moments after. At Mycroft for letting this happen to him. At whoever it was who did it. At how easily Sherlock shrugged it off, the memory not seeming to affect him a bit. He must have sensed her anger because he peeled an eye open to look at her and then leaned up and kissed her softly on the mouth. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered into the small amount of space between them as he hovered above her and his eyes glowed brightly.

"You are magnificent, Molly Hooper," he replied before wrapping both arms around her and falling asleep.

So now, months later, in a hotel room in Los Angeles, Molly vowed to bring him back to London with not a scratch on him. She had been the one to prevent so many of them before and she would continue that.

Her mind snapped back to the present, his words registering with her. "I have to use it, too, love," she said and held up a box of red hair dye but he didn't look at her. She lifted up his torso so he was sitting up straight and perched herself on his lap, her hands running along those scars. "You're going to be okay this time around," she said to him. "I won't let anything happen to you, Mr. Smith."

This made him smirk and his hand absentmindedly fell to her left hand. "You're not wearing your rings."

"Well I don't want to get dye on it," she replied and he smiled, stood up, and set her down in the chair, pushing her head back under the sink so he could do her dye as well.

"You've been protecting me for so long, Molly Hooper. Isn't it my turn to protect you?" he asked.

"We'll protect each other. Deal?" He nodded. "I love you," she added. For a second she almost thought he was going to say it back, his mouth opening up and the look in his eyes softening into something that looked like love to Molly. But he shook his head slightly, like he was clearing the words from his mind, and kissed her forehead instead. She could handle that for now.

The next day, Sherlock and Molly stood outside the bank after she insisted on going with him. He didn't want another fight so he obliged, making a plan for her to distract Wise's secretary while Sherlock snuck into Wise's office during the meeting. He would like to check around the office and see if he could find anything that would lead to information about the extent of Moriarty's network before Wise came back.

"By the way," said Molly before they entered the bank. "Did you ever find out who put the program on your computer?" He had showed it to her the night before as they lay in bed, the room quiet with the only light coming from the glow of the laptop screen. Sherlock reveled in the moment, knowing that it would be last time things would be that calm until they took down the rest of the network.

"I didn't. Mycroft is looking into it but so far we have no leads."

"Right." She nodded. "Just another mystery to solve then." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it before entering the tall bank building, a modern structure with more windows than walls sitting on the corner of a busy street looking out over the city.

Molly and Sherlock walked down the white tile of the the lobby, Molly's heels clacking with every step. She wobbled slightly, not used to the sensation of being up so high. She did, however, enjoy being almost eye level with Sherlock. Their friends probably wouldn't be able to recognize them with their different colored hair and hairstyles; Sherlock straightened his while Molly had it chopped off at her shoulders.

They got an elevator, riding it the whole way to the top floor. "Is my mustache okay?" Sherlock asked seriously but Molly laughed and smoothed it over.

"It's fine. But I like you much better without facial hair."

"Noted," he said with a deep breath. He grabbed the lapels of his suit and straightened it out. Shaking his shoulders in the process.

"Nervous?" asked Molly.

"No. It's just been a while." The elevator dinged, making them both jump slightly. He steeled himself before the door could open. "Ready?" he asked her.

"Ready." They walked off the elevator, her going one way and him going the other, sharing a look of reassurance as they separated. Molly, for her part, walked up to a large circular desk that sat at the end of the hall. Down the hall from the right side of the desk stood two large doors. The woman behind the desk must have heard Molly's heels hitting the floor because she looked up at Molly and gave her a small glare, probably for being interrupted from her work.

"Oh, hello!" said Molly brightly as she walked up to her.

"Can I help you?" asked the woman in a bored town, barely glancing at Molly.

"Actually, yes. I was wondering if you had a list of all the offices in this building." Molly followed through with her pre-thought dialogue, hoping that it didn't sound too forced.

"And who are you?" prompted the woman.

"Oh, sorry. My husband is here for a business meeting with Paul Wise. He just had to run off to the bathroom so I told him I'd take care of it." The secretary gave her a skeptical look so Molly smiled brightly at her until, finally, the woman turned around to sort through a bin. Sherlock took this moment to come from around the corner and sneak into Wise's office. He gave a wink to Molly before he slipped inside and she smiled back in response.

Once inside the office, Sherlock started poking through the shelves on the walls, his fingers following book bindings carefully as he searched for anything that could give him information on the web. The books were all dusty, none of them would have been picked up in the last few days, so Sherlock went over to the large desk, opening the laptop carefully and easily decoding the password. He then searched through his files, his eyes narrowing at the brightness of the screen and his forehead wrinkling in concentration.

His mouth opened in shock when he found one particular file that would change this entire game, adding yet another piece of evidence to the mystery. But before he could investigate further, the wooden door to the office creaked open and Paul Wise waltzed, his shoulders shaking back and forth and his head held high. The man stepped back when he saw Sherlock standing there by his desk.

"Um…hello?" Paul said to the blond detective.

"Hello, Mr. Wise. Don't you remember me? We met at that conference last year. The name's Smith." Paul raised his eyebrow for a second but then shook his head and stepped around his desk, not noticing that Sherlock had opened and closed his laptop.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" Now before, Sherlock would waste time when talking to a spider in Moriarty's web. He would dig for information, deduce everything about them. But that was then. This was now. And now all he wanted to do was get rid of this guy so he could move on. Getting into the bank was easier than most of the other targets. The only reason they chose to go to California first was because Paul was first on the list. They had yet to figure out the hierarchy of the web, so the number one spot made the most sense.

Sherlock hit the button on his phone before Wise even got the words out. In the next second, a team of three men entered the room, dressed in usual business clothes, trying to blend in with the rest of the building.

"Mr. Wise," started Sherlock. "You are under arrest for you involvement with the criminal James Moriarty. And I'm only going to ask this once so you better listen and you better answer correctly." By this point the men had Wise handcuffed, his head bent down. Sherlock walked over and grabbed the back of his hair, pulling his head up to look up at him. "How many of you are there?" he demanded.

Wise looked at him, suddenly coming to the realization of who he was, recognizing those blue eyes. He gritted his teeth and snarled before spitting out, "Twelve. But there's no way you're going to get us all."

"Get him out of here," said Sherlock before he grabbed the laptop off the desk and followed the new prisoner out. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut about this unless you want any trouble," Sherlock mentioned to the secretary on his way out before holding out his hand toward Molly. "Coming, honey?" he asked, enunciating the last word, sticking to his cover though it didn't matter now.

Molly grabbed his hand quickly and walked off with him, almost running trying to keep up with his long strides. "What's that?" she asked pointing to the laptop under Sherlock's other arm.

"His laptop. That computer virus or program or whatever it is is on here, too," said Sherlock as he pressed the button for the elevator.

"So what does that mean?" asked Molly.

"It means that whoever put it on my computer, is part of the network."


End file.
